


His Toy Soldier

by d00biusc0nsent



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Dom/sub, Dominant Kylo Ren, Extremely Dubious Consent, Needles, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Touching, Nonbinary Character, Other, Painplay, Piercings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadist Kylo Ren, Tongue Piercings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d00biusc0nsent/pseuds/d00biusc0nsent
Summary: Individuality is more dangerous, as a proud stormtrooper of the First Order, than you could have imagined. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren decides to keep you as his personal pincushion and you have no say in it.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	His Toy Soldier

It’s too much: the throbbing around the metal barbell inside of your tongue. A bead of sweat drips down your nose, splashing inside of your helmet. At least your peers and superiors aren’t taking any notice of your agony as you march along the corridor with your squad. The peace behind your visor is one of the perks to being a soldier for the First Order, but the right to modify your body certainly isn’t. You scrunch your nose as another drop runs down an unused laugh line. It tickles like mad. You fall behind a step.

“Toothy,” the trooper behind you warns, knocking the toe of his boot into your heel to speed you along before someone of higher rank notices. You know why he’s on edge: your Leader is making a rare appearance among the drones of his hive, inspecting them.

Pushing forward despite the swelling in your mouth, it takes everything not to whimper, to hold your blaster properly, to keep up on the routine drill. You’re feverish, as much as you deny the looming infection. The sting of sweat forces your eyes shut. Your tongue pulses in time with your heart, beating along with the uniform marching of your fellow soldiers on the durasteel flooring. There’s an uneven sound interrupting the metronome. You ignore it until the vibrations are enough to startle you, so close are they. Heavy footfall approaches you on your right flank, catching up rather quickly despite how far apart each step seems to be. You keep your eyes shut, hoping the menacing figure passes you by like it had all of the troopers behind you like it had every other day of your life.

But not this time. Leader Ren’s steps soften to match your pace, and the seconds tick by as you wait for him to either address you or move on. He pulls a datapad from his belt, you hear.

_Is there a flaw in my appearance? A scuff on my boot? Is my belt crooked?_

“EV-5923,” he begins, startling you despite your already increasing state of panic, “you have an unusually high temperature and you’ve yet to alert medical. Report there. Inform the droid that I’ve sent you.”

“Yes, Sir,” you manage to dictate only barely with a fattening tongue in your mouth.

He tucks the pad away and quickens his pace, cloak dragging the floor behind him as he criticizes his army. You’ve never been singled out like this before and you gawk at how swiftly your day had taken an uneasy turn. Watching your squad drift away is like an out of body experience.

_‘Inform the droid that I’ve sent you’? The hell would that have to do with anything? He knows._

Doing as he asked, you greet the droid and give it the appropriate words, following it through the hallways. You suspect it’s malfunctioning, considering there’s no reason to be taking you so far away from the desk. There’s no one else around. It directs you inside the very last room at the end of the hall and returns to its post; you take a seat at the edge of the examining table, plate armor clunking. You waste no time in tearing the helmet from your head, and your gauntlets and gloves aren’t far behind.

With your fingers in your mouth, you struggle to get a grip on the bead at the top of the barbell. Between the blood and the spit, it’s proving a challenge. It isn’t budging. You curse and find a sink to clear away the slippery mess, tears brimming as you try your hand at unscrewing the bead once more in a mirror behind the faucet. Grabbing an embroidered towel hanging from the wall, you dab the moisture away.

_Odd. I’ve never seen such comforts in an examining room._

You swallow, scrambling worse than before to get the crude jewelry out of your body. It’s no use. Growling, you try to think, squinting tears away. A tool is what you need, you conclude, slapping your hand against the flush surface of the cabinets lining half of the room. There are no handles or recesses to latch fingers into.

_What the hell?_

Adrenaline has you nauseous, going around the room, fingertips lining the rectangular grooves, trying and failing to pry a single drawer open. Composing yourself takes willpower, especially when the thud of another’s boots could be felt in your own. You stare at the only door as the steps approach you, freezing. Years of training pulls you to your full height, resisting the fear, slipping your black gloves and white gauntlets back over your arms as quickly as you had torn them away. Your helmet seals shut over the aventail of your body glove just as the blaster doors part with a hiss.

Unable to speak, you take a knee, hoping the Supreme Leader would accept that as enough for a greeting. You avert your eyes from his face, framed in heavy zeyd cloth like the rest of his body. Where the idea of Kylo Ren as an idol of the First Order had radiated the youthful flame that drove the Order itself, the matte black robes and naked voice present him as ageless and cold.

Sweat stings your eyes, but you’re unwilling to close them even for a moment.

“EV-5923,” he addresses you, stopping just in front of your visor, “you’re frightened that I’m becoming complacent. Not unlike the Emperor. You fear that I’m distracted, but even more so, you fear what will happen to you once I fully realize just how distracted you’ve been yourself. Look here, soldier.” He gestures with gloved fingers as well for emphasis. “Unity isn’t the only reason the Order prohibits unauthorized body modification,” Ren chides you, eyes meeting yours through your helmet.

“Sir, I-”

“Hush,” he interrupts. “Insubordination means re-education. You know this. Why do it? For a thrill?”

You nod, keeping your back straight. There’s no reason to resist. You’ve seen what your Leader is capable of: getting everything he wants. There he is, already winding through your thoughts, tracing your steps through the routine of recent days. The crack in his face distracts you from the pain you’re reliving. Even as his eyes bore into yours you can’t stand to meet his gaze completely, especially not when he passes by some of your morning habits, setting your cheeks ablaze. He’s stoic in response, save for the quiver in the pattern of his breath. He reaches the moment you plunge the needle through your tongue, twinging as you slide it through as if he can feel it in his own mouth. You reach up to catch the blood trickling and then lower your hands back down, feeling foolish that you’re so ensnared by his illusion.

“Risking yourself for a mere sensation,” he surmises, releasing his hold on you. “There’s a trap I’ve fallen into. Now, remove that helmet and set it to the side. Stand. Good, now the rest of it.”

You hesitate, unsure of where to begin as you keep your eyes glued to the floor. He doesn’t give you much time, choosing to release all of the latches of your armor in unison with a motion of his hand. Each piece clatters to the ground and you gasp, collecting yourself. Kicking your breastplate to the side, he approaches you, guiding you softly to the edge of the examining table with a sizable hand on your chest.

“Open your mouth. Let me see it,” he whispers with a level of intimacy that stands each hair on end.

You obey, shutting your eyes to endure the discomfort of it all. A drawer opens and an object flies through the air, impacting the leather of his gloves. You’re too frightened to look as you hear him clanging something metal around. A machine whirs beside you, sounding not unlike a sonic.

He clamps something to the tip of your tongue and locks it in place, burdening your injury with the weight of what has to be forceps as he pulls his hand away. You hear him snapping on sterile gloves and dropping his cloak to the floor to join your scattered gear.

“Did someone make this for you?” he asks, poking at the bead of the piercing, buried as deep as a button in an overstuffed cushion. You’re silent, unsure of how to answer. “I could find out right now. Should I?”

You shake your head, frowning at the agony from the swaying forceps.

“Clearly someone assisted you,” he adds absently, pulling more objects into his hands with that eerie magic. He’s still. “Open your eyes.”

A syringe. Your breath hitches at the sight of it, held so delicately as he watches the fear pass over your face like a cloud.

“Just a sting,” he promises. “You’ll be thanking me.”

You squint a few stray tears from your eyes as he punctures your tongue with the needle, not far from the hole itself. Relief washes over you as the inflammation recedes from your barbell.

“Well?” Ren inquires, allowing you to babble for some time before you’re able to articulate.

“Angk ou,” you manage, focusing on the blank wall behind him.

“Of course, but I’m not through with you,” he warns. “Let’s get that junk out of your mouth. Your bar is much too short, at least for now. I have a better one for you to wear.”

_He’s letting me keep the thing?_

Pinching his thumb and forefinger together, he makes a counterclockwise motion, concentrating. The bottom bead budges, unscrewing from the bar and slipping away in the stream of saliva soaking the lap of your body glove. You watch as he pulls the clamp up and out with his mind, freeing his hands. Going through a drawer, he finds a suitable piece of jewelry and cleans it in the sonic before unscrewing its top bead and lining the new barbell up to the bottom hole in your tongue. White knuckled around the edge of the table, you brace for the thicker gauge to replace the old. He screws on the new bead at the surface, smoothing two fingers around the sphere once it’s tightened, eyes locking. There’s a slight tremor in his hands.

“It’s clear, so none will be the wiser. This will stay between us, and I’ll have no reason to track down the poor craftsman who assisted you. Just promise me,” he trails off, sliding his index and middle finger back further.

You nod, mewling as he removes the forceps and drops them into a tray, blood rushing to the tip of your tongue.

“Promise that you’ll chase sensation with only me, whenever and wherever I summon you to do so. Say yes, my toy soldier,” he entices, knowing full well that you could never refuse such a request from the Supreme Leader.

You nod again, matching his eye contact with more conviction than you’ve ever dared with a superior officer. Your brow knits together as his fingers graze the back of your throat. When you resist your gag reflex, he presses harder and you lose control of it. Blinking away tears as you cough away the intrusion, you listen to his condescending laughter. Still, he seems to be enjoying the thrill of toying with you, eyes darting back and forth as he wedges his free hand between your thighs, suggesting that you spread them. You obey before doubt processes.

_This should be an honor… shouldn’t it?_

Thought is lost on you as the scene plays on without you. Ren wastes no time in stroking your sex through the thin, black material, soaked in your own fluids. A corner of his mouth turns as you moan around his fingers, but the grin fades as he focuses, feeling out the perfect spot to fondle you. He finds it. You buck against him with caution, wanting more of the wet pressure, and you sigh, grinding harder when he doesn’t try to stop you.

“Such a willing little slut you are,” he praises, matching the rhythm with both arms. “So proud to belong to me; so eager to be noticed and used by your better.”

You relax your lips around his digits, sucking and slurping at the same pace that your pelvis works for his friction, ignoring the rawness of your tongue.

“Tell me, before I leave you. Where would you have chosen the needle’s kiss if your body belonged to you? The same spot? No,” he answers his own question, feeling the truth bubble up from your subconscious. Gloves squeak against your teeth as he withdraws from your mouth with a lewd pop, dragging saliva and blood down your front. “Here?” A pathetic noise escapes from you as he pinches at your sex through the body glove, clicking his tongue at you for thrusting into empty air afterward. “Mm, no, not yet,” he muses, taking a moment to look at your body before an abrupt exit.

**_His_** body.


End file.
